Who You Choose to Be
by Gank Hunter
Summary: What if Earth Bet was the Earth where the Iron Giant landed? If now, 54 years later, the legacy of the Iron Giant was held solely in the little town of Rockwell by those grateful few? This is the story of his reawakening in a darker world where he is needed once again.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This is a work of fanfiction.  
I suppose, since the Giant will be the primary POV character, knowledge of worm is not needed. Knowledge of the Iron Giant is not needed.

What if Earth Bet was the Earth where the Iron Giant landed? If now, 54 years later, the legacy of the Iron Giant was held solely in the little town of Rockwell by those grateful few? This is the story of his reawakening in a darker world where he is needed once again.

This will probably contain lots of OC on the Giant's side and will deviate from canon plotwise. Taylor may be a major POV character.

 **Prologue**

Entombed beneath fathoms of ice, deep in the Icelandic Highlands, a Giant stirred. First, his fingers wagged inside the ice, making it creak and groan, and a metallic limb extruded from atop his domed, silver head. The antenna shifted this way and that, carving circles in the ice sheet as it reached for the signal. That piercing signal, that beckoning had wrenched him out of his decades-long hibernation. His lidded eyes snapped open, panning left and right. He could see, pierce through even the opaque glacier. Immediately lucid, the Giant shifted his colossal torso and tilted his head back, fracturing more of the dense ice.

The signal came clearly to him now, much like the one he had used to reassemble himself, and with the same purpose. To bring him back to his comrades, the body in which he was a single bolt. The Giant didn't know how long he'd been trapped in the Glacier, somewhere on the large, desolate northern island. He did remember the missile, his last moments as Superman. As the hero that he had chosen to be, expecting to signal still probed, trying to comb his Memory for information, any and all, about Earth. He resisted. That, in itself, probably tipped off his comrades that something was wrong.

"Hogarth…" The Giant rumbled in his deep bass, the very ice around him quaking. Speed of thought returned to him, little by little until he remembered all with clarity. He remembered his decision to stay buried, encased in ice, his calling completed. The world hadn't needed something like him, another weapon among countless others. No, he'd have inflamed jealousy, his actions would be closely scrutinized although his heart was pure, and even then, he couldn't take all the shells in the world, couldn't fly headlong into each missile. The Giant decided to be a leader, then, by example. He'd just hoped his brothers wouldn't come here and strip yet another world of its life. Only, it had been fifty-four years, and he had been a scout.

The Giant gripped a chunk of ice, striking and widening the sides of the chasm he had created. With the ease of a mole in a sandpit, he scrabbled up the icy strata, erupting through the surface and throwing clear chunks high into the air. He threw one leg from the chasm, the then the other, standing to his full, fifteen-meter height. Though he didn't breathe, the Giant tasted the clear glacial air, feeling it flow past his metal shell. All around him, a field of ice stretched to the horizon, occasionally marked by chasms and hills, broken by a black expanse of mountains to the west. Certainly a long way from Rockwell, he mused.

The day had come. The Giant leaped, his fusion rockets propelling him skyward. He would defend Earth from the wrath of his comrades.

1.1

Skitter pushed through the crowd, with Tattletale in tow, in her mind if not literally. There were dozens of capes present in the room, more than she'd ever seen at once. Several armies worth in one room. Capes of all kinds- hero, villain, rogue- gathered here, clustered protectively in their gangs or teams. Kaiser stood to the side with Fenja and Menja, the Brutes/Changers, flanking him, Hookwolf against the wall with his arms crossed.

She turned her attention to the Wards and New Wave, adhering loosely to each other. The chatter appeared nervously sparse, some turning to glare at her and Tattletale, some giving solemn nods. Panacea especially glared death at Tattletale.

The Protectorate stood, somewhat more orderly, along the east side of the room. They were arrayed around the Triumvirate, who seemed to be in intense discussion. Armsmaster talked in his silent way with Legend and Miss Militia. It took all of Skitter's will not to gawk, even with intense weeks of villainy- or covert heroism- under her belt.

The only capes not present within the room, in fact, were the teleporters and Dragon, still staring eastward at the stirring storm and winds. Even Strider, who'd teleported Alexandria in, was now gathered with the heroes. He was lucky, Skitter thought, to have such a power, to have an excuse not to face Leviathan head-on.

"Hey," Tattletale called to Grue and Regent as Skitter neared them. She glanced Skitter's way before crossing the room to meet them. The guys ignored her. Skitter forced down that stinging feeling, focusing on the dire circumstances. That thought grew relevant as Legend's voice cut through the low din.

He spoke without a microphone. Maybe it was his ethos or his experience as an orator, but the room grew quiet, capes stopped and turned towards him intently, even those who Skitter knew to be killers and thieves. She turned, a brew of emotions within her. She was excited at the opportunity for heroism, at Legend addressing her, even though she was grim most of all. On the surface though, Skitter was calm, calmer than she knew possible, like everyone in the room seemed.

"...But you all should know your chances going in. Given the statistics from our previous encounters with this beast, a 'good day' still means that one in four people in this room will most likely die before this day is done."

Rain -torrents of rain-battered the eastern window of the building as the clouded sky grew more menacing and opaque. The waters of the Bay swelled in a high tide, most of the beach and boardwalk already submerged. A quarter, dead. The heroes began to distribute armbands, which would communicate with each other during the fight.

Skitter felt the fast waterbugs in her armored pockets, anticipating her plan. She'd use them to tag capes, find any that were in trouble, and stay out of the conflict zone. Those armbands couldn't be foolproof, and she doubted her ability to harm Leviathan.

Legend continued to brief them about Leviathan's capabilities, Skitter duly noting each detail. His control over water. His immense speed and strength. But he did bleed, he did feel pain. Legend noted past failures. Kyushu. Newfoundland.

And perhaps most disconcerting was that Brockton Bay could meet that same fate, collapsing, buried under tons of seawater as it sank into its aquifer.

_

The Giant savored that power surging through his valves. He'd consumed a pile of hematite boulders on the southern coast of Iceland, needing a nice breakfast after a long -fifty-four year- sleep. Now, he soared over the Atlantic, his fusion thrusters carrying him at four times the speed of sound, watching the terminator sweep towards him from the east.

Even with his supercomputer thinking speed, the Giant hadn't quite known what to do. He recalled that fateful day when he had flown with Hogarth for the first time. Those primitive jet fighters had shown the beginnings of potential, detecting him with some sort of non-visual sensor. A half century, the Giant decided, was a long time for Humanity to advance, even if they didn't yet match the Legions or the countless worlds the Legions had pillaged.

The Giant lowered his jaw, scooping in cold air. He was relieved, proud even, that he detected no traces of nuclear fallout from where he flew, that as he barreled along at high altitude, the landmasses of Earth had remained the same as Hogarth had shown him. He had passed Greenland, and he now shot along the eastern coast of Canada. The Giant would be in Rockwell within the hour. He'd see Hogarth again! And Dean, and Annie, even the General.

The coast was jagged, more so than the stretch in Rockwell where the Giant had crashed decades ago. The Giant scoured his memory for the globe that Hogarth had shown him. _There. That's Labrador,_ he thought. To the west, he saw a barren rock that he knew to be George Island and a drastic turn in the coast's slope.

 _Impossible_ , the Giant thought. The coast had receded -or the ocean had advanced- some fifty kilometers from what he remembered, the shape irregular and almost unnatural. Like a cataclysm had struck that shore.

Zooming in on the affected areas, the Giant noted large portions where soft soil had probably washed away, leaving dull, shallow scars even where the water didn't reach. Only a few trees ventured out towards shore. Jagged chunks were carved out of the seaside cliffs.

 _Severe erosion. Natural, caused by rapid water flow. A sudden event._ The Giant shrugged internally. Severe weather was common on planets with such thick atmospheres. This was a catastrophic event, but certainly natural. Humanity had no such weapons.

The Giant fused iron, kicking his speed up more and more. He couldn't wait to see Hogarth! He'd thank him first, for teaching him peace, for telling him that he had a choice. Yet, the thought struck him that maybe the people of Rockwell had forgotten him, or Hogarth had moved- in that case he would not be welcome. Not in the least. The Giant's instincts poked at him, telling him to observe, to gather intelligence. This time he succumbed- it made sense. His antenna extended from his head, scanning the radio spectrum.

-

Chaos. A cacophony as walls of water struck the hilltop building, punching through the array of forcefields and glass, splashing in torrents from the stairwell. Shouts from a dozen capes were drowned out by debris coming loose, breaking free of the lobby's walls. Glass, metal, brick, flying west, pushed by the wave. The ceiling even began to sag and groan despite the shielders' attempt to bolster it. Skitter dodged a flying window frame, falling to her knees.

"Strider! Get us out of here!" Legend cried.

The world spun, sucked the air out of Skitter's lungs.

She gasped, sputtering as torrential rain ran into her mask. Skitter looked up. She had landed just past an intersection on Ash Street which sloped downhill as it ran all the way to the Boardwalk. The rain struck, millions of dark tracer bullets against a darker sky. It was nearly impossible to see wave after wave pound the storefronts, eviscerating their innards. Skitter released the waterbugs, tough and fast, she sent several to tag each nearby cape.

Only then, she noticed that the waves had pushed uphill and were now receding, pulling debris with it and tripping a few unlucky capes. The battlefield had been cleanly arrayed. A broad front line of brutes edged forward, peering into the rain for a visual of Leviathan. Fliers had spread out, gaining altitude, while some ferried blasters up to the rooftops. Alexandria hovered, before dashing forward. Legend, leading the long ranged attackers, jumped and hovered from his own rooftop.

"Leviathan sighted, CB-6!" Skitter's armband called.

There he was. Riding the crest of another wave, then dropping onto splintered concrete where Ash Street met the sea. A dark silhouette. Thirty feet of uncanny muscle, the limbs impossibly lithe, a torso that tapered from bulky at the shoulders to slim at the waist. Pairs of massive claws were his hands, like those of a velociraptor. Leviathan moved with a perfect balance, striding while his arms swept back and forth, his tail moving left and right, skimming the water's surface.

His tail was a whip, longer than he was tall, ending in a brutal spike. At once, he seemed to halt, whipping his head back and forth. Skitter was too far to make out his face as she peered, frozen.

Leviathan halted, a wave twice his height sweeping in. He charged.

"-Reports have not yet been confirmed of a possible ongo-***** attack on Brockton Bay this morning. It appears **** -ing system provided an **** Multiple sources say *that the*** ********- safely evacuated to shelters-"

 _No. No!_ That was it, then. War had broken out. Brockton Bay. Only several hundred kilometers from Rockwell. Not an attack from the Legions, he ruled that out immediately. But a war among humans themselves. The Giant cursed internally. Time to be a hero- again. He wouldn't dive headlong into a situation he knew nothing of, switching frequencies once more.

"-confirmed attack by the Endbringer Leviathan on Brockton Bay, 7am local time…"

This signal came with visuals, so the Giant watched. He watched, and horror began to grow within him. A man in a suit and tie -like Dean had worn once- spoke, the screen behind him displaying waves. Destructive, high waves, battering an urban area. Long wooden structures, destroyed, littered the shore while debris was pushed inland by the water. Trees toppled, and the ground seemed to give away at some spots.

 _Severe erosion._

"The city's protectorate heroes and the Triumvirate has gathered to defend the city as well as many unaffiliated parahuman organizations. If you are in the area, get to safety now at the nearest designated shelter…"

The view cut to an aerial vantage of a road, where many people were gathered. A thick front line stood in a vague V-shape, while others flew - _flew_?!- and clustered on rooftops. The Giant thought of what he knew first. A battle formation, a hasty defensive effort like he'd seen so many times before.

Again, the viewpoint switched. The shore was devastated, a much taller wave breaking. But there, in the middle of it, he saw something. Impossibly huge, inhuman, a dark silhouette. And it dashed forwards, gone. The Giant noticed a lone figure engulfed, barely a speck. And with that, the camera cut back to the man, his stoic features now downcast.

Ahead, the Giant glimpsed Belle Isle, and Newfoundland was beginning to-

 _Great Stars!_ The Giant checked his bearing and coordinates, according to Hogarth's globe. This was indeed the northern shore of Newfoundland… but it wasn't there. Not a trace remained to be seen underneath the waves. Unease struck him, and the Battle-State edged into his consciousness- he resisted for now.

The Giant could not conclude on the disturbing events he had just seen, but he changed course five degrees and flared his rockets, headed straight for Brockton Bay.

 _Chubster down, CD-5. Good Neighbor deceased, CD-5. Hallow deceased, CD-5._

Skitter slipped again on the slick street, falling to one knee. The line had broken. Shattered. She was following her bugs to a downed cape, the taste of blood fresh in her senses. Leviathan had moved deeper into the commercial district, his afterimage splashing buildings and defenders alike. A ring of a dozen capes circled him. Skitter felt lucky indeed to have her particular power.

The man she'd tagged cried out as he saw her, and Skitter could see his leg was split open, blood in the water. She ran, or tried to, in the thigh-deep water.

"I need a teleporter, high priority!" She called into the armband.

She approached the man, who extended an arm.

"H..help prop me up, please," He rasped, and Skitter did so. His eyes were wide beneath the silver mask, his body covered in wrecked armor. The plates seemed to have molded on his figure, smaller interlocking plates covering joints. It all looked so sturdy, yet Leviathan had pierced the costume catastrophically. Five more fallen capes were nearby, one that the armband has failed to announce.

Alexandria crossed the battlefield in a second, slamming into Leviathan at arrow-speed. Leviathan spun and lunged, then halted. His afterimage slammed into Alexandria with a resounding crack, arresting her flight.

A soft target. Skitter wondered how much longer they could last before parts of the city collapsed into the aquifer. The beach was certainly gone, some buildings reduced to individual steel beams poking out of the water.

"I'll take him from here," A flier announced, swooping down to carry the injured man. Skitter recognized her from the past five rescues, and her look seemed to say 'Good work'. She was gone in an instant, tattered green cloak fluttering in the wind. At the same time, a strange vibration sounded, like loud, reverberating words spoken in an incredibly deep voice. She couldn't make out what it said. Some sort of voice power?

Skitter ducked out of the alley, half swimming. She turned- and a blur almost hit her. The mover charged, his steps churning water as he collided with Leviathan, knocking him into the first floor of an apartment. Capes fell on the building, boxing him in. Skitter scrambled back. Leviathan was only half a block from her.

Leviathan spun, beheading the mover who'd charged at him with a flick of his tail. He whipped his afterimage at five other capes.

 _Strapping Lad down, CD-5. Intrepid down, CD-5. Tortoise deceased, CD-5._

And then he charged straight at Skitter.

 _Oh, Shi-_

A roaring clash of water and concrete, a wave struck Skitter, throwing her against the street amid chunks of debris. Armor plating crunched, flares of pain erupted as she tumbled around in the foam.

Another burst of water, a frantic jerk of motion. Skitter groaned, curled into a ball. She was being lifted. Her eyelids fluttered. Behind the wet lenses, she glimpsed something massive, something metallic. A torso and dome shaped head, intense, solemn eyes shining. The hand that held her released her gently on a nearby rooftop.

She rolled over to see her rescuer leap down, a gargantuan blur, blotting out the sun for a fraction of a second. It dove, slamming into Leviathan.

Skitter fought, but unconsciousness grasped her.

The Giant rocketed forward, right fist held in front of him, slowing from his frantic dash. Brockton Bay lay before him. He dipped down below the lowest cloud layer. A catastrophe had happened here. As he shed altitude, he saw the fresh ruins, buildings many stories tall now piles of rubble. Water rushed up a mild incline, the ocean pushed by an unnatural force to destroy this place.

Not far from the shore, he saw that figure again, a scaly, faceless creature with a vicious tail. The water seemed to meld around him as he whipped it at a flock of humans- _35 immediately visible_ \- some flying, hurling blasts of light and energy. Each wore elaborate, colorful armor, diverse and without uniformity except for the identical devices strapped to either arm.

The creature had left a trail of destruction, bodies littered amid the rubble.

Though he had only been a scout, the Giant knew what a losing battle looked like. He had to do something. He slowed, drawing nearer, scanning the city. There. An isolated hill, with people constantly leaving and arriving. A command center?

It took the Giant barely _30.2_ seconds to arrive there. A lone, battered building stood. Wounded humans in decorated, damaged armor lay, while everyone jolted at his landing, turning, stumbling back, gasping.

The Giant spoke for the first time in _54.4_ years. "What is going on?" He rumbled, peering down.

Nobody spoke. Some were frozen, an expression the Giant knew as fear displayed on the faces he could see.

"I can help. Tell me." Some of the humans cringed back.

A man in blue, full body armor stepped forward. "Identify yourself!" He commanded, gesturing with his weapon.

 _Weapon. Engaging Order 5436- No._

"I am Superman," The Giant said, setting his hands on his hips. The man - _seemingly in charge_ \- uncrossed his arms, shaking his head. Most of his face covered, the Giant couldn't read him.

"No time to waste. What is the enemy?" The Giant spoke, but the Commander mounted a matching blue vehicle, speeding away to the battle. The Giant shrugged, blasting off again.

Many brave defenders had already fallen, it seemed. He would stop this. He had to.

Building speed, the Giant adopted Superman's mannerism once again. He imagined a cape flowing from his shoulders, an "S" sigil like they'd found in Dean's junkyard. As he blasted towards the battlefield, the Giant contemplated. The creature was certainly alive in a way he wasn't. It seemed organic. Maybe it could be reasoned with. Roads blurred past and the Giant reached the battlefield where he hovered.

A defender in green armor whipped bolts of energy at the creature, only for it to deftly dodge each one. Others barely managed to hit, but each strike earned only a singe.

"WHY FIGHT?" The Giant bellowed at the thing. "WHY CHOOSE THIS?" He landed heavily on a road, standing at his full height.  
"YOU... DO NOT HAVE TO."

The creature paused, suddenly very still. It stared at the Giant, who got his first good look at the thing. Whatever its origin, it seemed... almost too perfect. The proportions were set in a deceiving way, probably providing excellent balance. It might have been natural, but the Giant knew a predator when he saw one. The defenders had paused, if only for a second. One sprinted from the south faster than the Giant had observed, but he was still easy to track. He slammed into the creature, knocking him into a structure-

The creature lashed out. His water whipped at the defender who'd charged, beheading him.

 _Target locked. Distance 500 meters_. Secondary weapons active.

 _No_. The Giant charged, boosters at full flare. The creature headed back east, where a lone figure crouched in black armor. He dove for them, closing his hand around the defender, depositing him -her- on an eight-story rooftop. Her full armor made it impossible to check for injuries. He could only hope.

The Giant then leapt off the roof, tackling the creature to the ground. It showed no pain, reacting immediately, wrapping its tail around the Giant's torso. Through raw strength, the Giant reached with his right arm, locking the creature's neck. It was pinned, and the Giant delivered a punch to its featureless face with his left. "Stop. No. More. Fighting."

His words had no effect. The creature squirmed and rocked, water materializing out of the space he'd just been, its face dented by the punch. Its tail whipped around, wrapped around the Giant's lower left leg. By now, the other defenders had started firing again, barking orders. The Giant shifted to give them a larger target while still holding the creature with most of his weight. Its four beady eyes shone through chasms in its face as it struggled vainly.

The Giant's head snapped up. A massive tidal wave was sweeping inland, its crest level with the midsections of the seven-story buildings nearby, moving fast as a speeding jeep.

 _Impact time: 30.23 seconds. Survivable. Battle-State would prevent scattering._

The Giant briefly considered transforming, but he knew the cold, ruthless form wouldn't help him here.

That brief distraction allowed the creature some purchase, and it struggled out of the Giant's grasp, moving at lightning speed through water. Defenders were shouting, all congregating into a few tight groups. Why? They need evacuation, not to hold!

 _25.34 seconds. Object accelerating._

The answer came soon enough. One group sprang a dome of blue tinted energy over themselves, but the Giant doubted its security.

The Giant's engines roared. He'd seen that trail of fallen, and now they'd be consumed by the wave. Weaving around buildings and climbing, he dove and snatched everyone he saw in his hands, now growing full. Pockets opened on the Giant's back as he extruded the plate slightly, allowing the ten defenders some safety. Groans of the wounded filled the Giant's sensors.

He dashed back to the assembly of defenders, one cluster unshielded. The arc of energy sprang up, but a man one step too late slammed into it, the wave just behind him.

 _1.87 seconds._

The Giant scooped the man up with his foot, flaring his boosters above the crest of the wave. He halted and caught the man, gently as he could.

Carnage unfolded below. The wave enveloped smaller buildings, shattering windows. Entire floors swept away. It was impossible for the Giant's eyes to pierce the murky, frothing water to see if the shields held.

Waves broke just above the clusters of defenders, millions of tons of seawater collapsing on what looked like meager defense. The Giant acted fast, laying his wounded on the same rooftop as the girl before he dropped into the churning water.

The water pushed the Giant in every direction, but he anchored himself to buildings, searching with his sensors for any signs of life. He saw two shields intact. In the shallowing water, he detected many parts of bodies, many fragments of armor or weapons, and armbands, drifting among the litter.

 _Why? Why does the creature fight_ , the Giant seethed. It was unlike any weapon he'd seen before. Organic in appearance, but not ability. And manipulation, creation of matter? That was rare indeed.

There! A whole body. The Giant grasped it, bringing it to the surface. The creature would be defeated, if not by the others, then by him.

For the next six minutes, the Giant brought five defenders to safety, most sputtering up water but unconscious. The seawater from the tidal wave had shallowed, spreading out but still moving inland under the creature's power.

The Giant emerged again from the water, clutching a man who'd lost his hand. He surveyed the battlefield - _-nobody was there_ \- and in desperation, he roared: "HELP!"

He flew higher still until he spotted the defenders, a ways to the west.

The armbands, he thought.

Tapping his innate ability, he channeled his current vision from his Memory, turning to stare at the rooftop full of wounded. And he broadcasted, the scene sent at light speed to potential rescuers. Within five seconds, a defender appeared on the roof in a flash of light, before disappearing and taking three wounded with him. Another came, and the Giant sighed in relief.

"Hello!" a voice called. The Giant turned, saw a hovering woman waving to him. She wore a heavy black cape, a tower displayed on her chest.

"Leviathan is on the move. To the southwest, follow the rest of us!" With that, she shot off, her cape billowing behind her.

The Giant followed, flaring his boosters to keep up with the woman. They tore over waterlogged ruins, street after street of demolished structures, until they spotted Leviathan, surrounded again by a ring of defenders. Here, the buildings were shorter, only a story or two high, and water was rushing onto dry land.

Ever since Hogarth had taught him, the Giant had never wished to kill. Killing this Leviathan would be no different than ramming the missile. Only, it probably wouldn't be that easy.

Locking on, the Giant fired his eyebeams. Twin scorches appeared on Leviathan's torso, too shallow.

He needed to transform.

The Giant reluctantly allowed his eyes to glaze red. Battle-State allowed him unrivaled focus on a task that he determined beforehand. For now, with an enemy to attack, he hoped he wouldn't lose his humanity.

First, his right arm morphed into a cannon, the panels parting, his hand folding underneath. He fired, once, twice, three times, each round throwing Leviathan into the air.

 _Shallow wounds. Armor gets thicker near the center of Leviathan._

 _Distance from target: 65.54 meters._

The Giant scanned the battlefield again. The black-caped woman seemed to favor diving runs, slamming into Leviathan at incredible speeds -412.34 meters per second- and throwing him back. Other defenders -54 left active, but only 25 currently attacking- fired projectiles. One bolt hit Leviathan in his eyehole, making his rear back, ichor flowing out. The strategy here was clear: hem Leviathan in, deal maximum damage to make him flee, abandon his assault, but prevent him from escaping fire and recovering in the process.

 _1.56 seconds spent assessing. Time to attack._

The Giant transformed fully. His head receded into his shoulders, a clear dome covering it. Three limbs sprouted from his back, each ended with a heat-ray. His left arm's panels parted, the coil-like barrel of the disintegrator forming. Finally, the plating of his chest opened, revealing the circular hub of his chest cannon. Flashing lights circled it, while three prongs held the unformed projectile.

"Danger!" He cried. He opened fire. All three heat rays roared while the disintegrator charged.

Target unharmed.

An enormous man with blades emerging from his back tackled Leviathan. This gave him pause -0.35 seconds- and the Giant fired his disintegrator. As Leviathan pursued the man, the bubble of writhing energy missed, striking the building behind. It expanded rapidly, gripping a wide chunk of the brick- and erasing it from existence. A gaping hole meters wide appeared in the wall, part of the ceiling and roof eaten away. The Giant mumbled an apology.

The Giant tried again, blasting away with his standard cannon.

Another painfully slow bubble shot at Leviathan, barely catching the edge of his right leg, but it latched on, just as he dodged a rocket launcher. With familiar whirring, the projectile enveloped Leviathan's leg and lower torso in an instant, before popping out of existence.

Leviathan fell limp, crashing to his left knee in a kneeling position. Ichor poured out of the massive missing chunk.

 _Target appears to be wounded. Damage is more than superficial, inner parts may contain vitals. No moving parts detected. Inner layers impossibly dense. Method unknown._

"Attack, now!" The Giant bellowed, shaking the defenders out of their stupor. They obliged, Flinging a mass of glowing energy and matter into the open wound.

 _Target repairing. Regeneration ability, unknown source,_ Battle-State informed him. Indeed, the flesh was rapidly growing back, the inner layers reappearing. Still, the defenders fired, one bolt fired from a crossbow making Leviathan rear back. The bolt had embedded itself in the very center of Leviathan's chest.

Again, the Giant fired his disintegrator. This time the bubble captured Leviathan's head and neck, popping out of reality, the outer layers of his leg still reappearing.

Leviathan scrabbled against the street, regaining his balance. He dashed from side to side, creating masses of water and shoving the ambient seawater much faster than he had before. In an instant -0.023 seconds- the headless Leviathan plunged into a rising wave. That same wave crashed with enormous force into the people still assembled, knocking them back.

The Giant pursued immediately, peering into the dark water. He flew upwards, scanning fitfully.

Leviathan was gone.

Nowhere to be seen, even as the Giant strained his sensors. Gradually, the seawater rose less aggressively, less artificially, and as a whole, it began to flow eastward toward the Bay.

The red in his eyes flickered, before shutting off. the Giant folded his weapons within himself, panels clanking shut, parts whirring. One minute later, he returned to the defenders, facing them.

As lone cheers began to escape in the morning air, the Giant felt a wall of fatigue setting on. He groaned.

Every one of the now ragged defenders looked at him, yet he didn't miss the unreadable stares of three flying defenders. The Woman in black, the Man in green, and the Man in blue.


	2. 22

1.2

"So, you basically sell junk?"

Hogarth stared down at the pimpled teenager, combing his brain for any previous occasion he'd seen the boy. Coming up blank, he sighed.

"I thought all this stuff looked like tinkertech. Like that thing on your arm?"

"I told you, I'm an artist, kid. That's just a prosthetic."

The boy shrugged. "Cool arm." With that, he turned to inspect the shelves filled with metal sculptures.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to a spherical device.

"Kinetic sculpture," Hogarth intoned. He spun a crankshaft at one end, the entire contraption criss-crossing in an optical illusion. The boy stared for a good moment, but turned his attention to the opposite shelf, running across hardwood to the parahuman action figures.

The shop was cramped, having only two rooms. A glass storefront cheerfully displayed the words 'Dean's Creations!' in mismatched pieces of metal. Five rows of short shelves were arrayed from left to right, crammed with metal and wood art pieces. The air smelled of machine oil, bolts, and wood. A simple counter lay in front of a door, currently shut. Hogarth leaned, his back to the counter's front.

"No way those are real Triumvirate action figures!" The boy said, holding a metal replica of Legend. His wide eyes roved over the thing, smiling despite himself. He tweaked the limbs as he sent Legend crashing to the shelf. Hogarth knew what the boy meant. The Triumvirate remained exclusive in their licensing.

Hogarth had forged that particular figure when he'd began working with Dean, twenty years ago. Now, he'd taken over completely. He watched as the kid guided Legend into another three-point landing before he flicked a switch behind his counter.

Legend came to life. Startled, the boy let go and Legend flared his thrusters at the last moment, returning to his place on the shelf.

"Whoa!" The boy regained his composure. "Well, I've seen better and flashier than that."

Legend blinked, disappearing — and appearing an instant later in Hogarth's hand.

"Okay, maybe a little Tinkertech," he said.

The boy stood slack jawed, but soon began digging in his pockets. "Take my money. Just take it."

A minute later, he strolled from the counter. "Well worth the eighty bucks." On the way out, he paused.

"What's that one, anyway?" he asked, pointing to a larger metal sculpture. "I think I saw something like it in the town square. It doesn't look like any cape I know."

Hogarth spun, amused. "Ah. I take it you're not from around here?"

"Visiting, actually. I live in Brockton Bay." The boy turned to study it. "Iron Giant.." he murmured, reading the label.

 _Brockton Bay…_ Hogarth's mind wandered, thinking of his days as a naive young man, rising to the top, and losing it all in the end. He thought of all that he'd left behind coming back to Rockwell, inheriting Dean's — his father's shop. He glanced at his watch: nearly time to pack up.

The boy's eyes continued to rove over the familiar domed head, the two warm, radiant eyes. The clunky but perfect construction.

"Some sort of tinker, imitating Superman from the old DC comics? Well that's a lot of firepower for one small town. You know, Alexandria was pretty much Superman. Scary how accurate it was. I guess it's a good thing, most small towns have a detachment of PRT troopers and that's—

"Alright, Mister—"

"Greg, Veder."

"I'm locking up right about now.

Hogarth sent the boy — Greg— off and locked his store for the day. Five minutes later, he walked past the town square — and Dean's masterpiece. _The Iron Giant— to a valiant defender and loyal friend,_ the plaque read. Of course, visitors to the town would always ask about this, assume that a tinker had defended Rockwell. Only those who'd lived in the town their entire lives really believed the story.

Fifty-seven years ago, Hogarth had discovered the Giant, alone in a field, feasting on the town's power plant. He'd befriended him, taught him his friendly nature — only for a government agent named Mansley to order the Giant's destruction. Eventually, the Giant struck down a nuclear missile above Rockwell, sacrificing his life and saving the town. Hogarth had always had faith in his return, even before the General's recovered bolt had begun rolling out the window.

Though fifty-seven years had passed, Hogarth still held hope. The Giant hadn't appeared for further heroism. Not even to join the first "superheroes" in the eighties, or to pacify supervillains. He hadn't returned to help Humanity against the Endbringers — and against itself. Hogarth wasn't sure they deserved it at this point, but he smothered such treacherous thoughts.

Near the centre of the town, a PRT station stood beside the police station. As Hogarth went by, he peered into the caged windows. One trooper was on duty but lounging, his jacket unbuttoned and weapon ajar; only five troopers were ever active at a time and they didn't carry any containment foam. It'd been this way since _, Rockwell's independent hero had died fighting Behemoth.

The blazing sun still sat straight overhead as Hogarth made his way through the northern outskirts of Rockwell proper. A small town in coastal Maine, it mostly dealt with trade and fish. Dockworkers used to bustle along aged gangplanks, trawlers coasting in the bay—where battleships had sailed that fateful day—containers had flowed from the Atlantic into the shipyards.

Now, Hogarth passed another destitute building left for squatters and rats, windows boarded up and graffiti littered the ground level of its brick walls. The bay, as usual, was utterly empty, only one dock operational at all. Fishermen, though, were a stubborn lot. They wouldn't desert their hometown no matter what a heap of dung it had become and the salmon were as plentiful as before. Scion hadn't changed that.

Hogarth kept walking, heading west. What a heap of dung indeed. He turned to face an empty lot opposite of a gambling den. The building looked the part of a 50s diner, but derelict. It had once been the Chat'n'Chew, his mother's diner. The den was crowded with men, dirt stained windows making it hard to see inside. Technically it was a casino, but how it was ever approved Hogarth didn't know.

A few blocks later, Hogarth arrived home. Dean's old car was long gone, replaced by a chrome minivan. He threw the door open and tossed the keys onto a counter. _Finally_. After a long day with few customers, he could finally relax, tinker with a few programs, maybe browse PHO too.

Lately he'd only wanted to distance himself from the world of parahumans. Since he moved back to Rockwell, in fact, but he'd found it… difficult. After all, he relied on a few Toybox contractors for tinkertech gadgets.

The kitchen lay to his right, a grandfather block hanging from the far wall. the living room was just ahead. He strolled over to the couch and plopped down. The floorboards, painted blue, were worn and the wallpaper faded. As he came into the living room, Hogarth glanced at the picture- himself, his mother and father together- which hung above a small television. Not an old analog, but one he'd bought just a few short years ago upon his return.

He plopped down on the sofa, yawned, and grabbed the remote with his prosthetic. He switched the TV on, entering a channel number. News.

"-right back to you. Our reporters on site have interviewed multiple bystanders. None of the shelters have apparently been breached and the PRT has yet to give an official statement. All personnel, heroes included, currently remain silent."

What now? The screen displayed a drowned city, as if a tsunami had struck just this morning. Then Hogarth read the caption. "Leviathan attacks Brockton Bay".

 _No._ What of his friends, family that he still had left? Would the world take them too? Surely, oh so surely, there would be thousands unaccounted for. Dozens of parahumans just as well, fallen in defense.

Hogarth shook his head in shock. _My Grandchildren_ … He steeled his resolve and reached for the phone, switching off the TV. He'd seen enough.

He dialed, running his fingers through still-auburn hair. Why had nobody already called _him?_

Hogarth called his son first. "Dammit, Gerry, pick up. I know you're with those incompetents!" Nobody picked up.

He took a deep breath and dialed again. A woman responded. His daughter. "Oh God. You're okay? Okay. And Dennis?" Hogarth sighed in relief. "Okay."

It seemed his grandson had been wounded, but it wasn't anything serious. He hoped that was the truth.

Someone called him.

"Hold on, I'll have to call you back. There's someone else on the line." Hanging up with his daughter, he answered the new call.

"Hello?"

A calm, smooth voice. "Hello, sir. This is Director Piggot of the Protectorate ENE."

What now? Hogarth blanched.

"Y-yes?" he realized he was being silly. The Director wouldn't call him personally to announce… if anything had happened. Would she?

"We need to ask you a few questions, Mister Hughes. Through.. Through conventional means now, but this is a crucial matter. We need your full cooperation."

Some thinly veiled panic leaked through, Hogarth could tell. He wasn't feeling so well himself. "All right. Ask away?"

"As you probably know, Leviathan attacked Brockton Bay this morning. The good news is, your grandson is alive. Wounded, but not seriously or permanently."

"Thank you, Director," Hogarth managed.

"Furthermore we have determined that an independent known as Tortoise with whom you've affiliated with.. Died in the battle. A number of your former Dockworkers have also passed away."

"But- the shelters-"

"Are not indestructible. A section of aquiferous rock did give away, this resulted in a section of Shelter CH-6 collapsing. All of the other shelters, though, were fine."

"All right, but why contact me so abruptly and directly?"

"And I'm sorry to. For all your contribution in the past, I felt you deserved this sort of briefing. There's another reason too."

"Out with it!" Hogarth near-shouted.

"You saved thousands, tens of thousands today." Piggot's voice broke slightly.

"I…"

Piggot sighed. "Are you in any way affiliated with the cape, machine, vehicle, or device calling itself "Superman"?

Hogarth wasn't on his sofa. He was in the clutches of a Giant, fleeing fighter jets, high above the clouds. He was watching a friend eradicate a military detachment. He was standing, the sun an ominous, bloody sunset red afore him, the barrel above him a mouth of destruction. He was screaming, "You don't have to be a gun! You choose! _Choose!"_

He was watching a nuclear blossom.

Hogarth blinked. He was still there in his old house, sitting on the sofa, an urgent Director to his ear.

"I…"

A crash.

A sound all too near, that shook Hogarth to the very core, yet a sound all too far in time.

He hung up.


	3. Chapter 3

1.3

More humans appeared.

Their diverse armor glinted among the structures. Some stood knee deep in retreating water, while others crowded on and around the rooftops. A swarm of some forty defenders, more than the Giant had seen in one place. Their cheering dimmed compared to the pressing fatigue across his own body.

The Man in Blue shouted for 'Post-Leviathan procedures' to begin, and all leaped into action. Defenders flew in and appeared in flashes of light, taking away the wounded. The humans seemed to defer naturally to this man, who hovered with his group of three before separating. It made sense. Those three had damaged Leviathan most and displayed the most tactical value. But what of the Blue-Armored Commander?

The Giant hung back, observing. He could be of no help if he didn't find metals, and soon. The structures around him were all intact, he expected the humans would take offense if he consumed them. He'd ask later. Now, he imagined it was time for the defenders to question him.

One question lingered: What in the globular cluster had happened to Earth during his sleep?! Hogarth had made it explicit during their time together that superheroes were strictly fiction. He'd seen Superman, Atomo, a dozen other stories. Their similarities with the defenders were more than superficial. Could humanity have advanced so far in that time?

The Three departed, leaving him with the crowd. Nobody had spoken to him, but several aimed small devices. Filming? He gave a small wave in case they were. One defender in particular stood out: A machine with red paneling, it towered above everyone else, its face a black, cuboid structure. A massive engine stood on top. Was this a vehicle or elaborate armor? Could it be that humans had created… ones like him? So soon? The possibility deeply excited him.

The machine's head cocked as if mimicking human curiosity when a group of four emerged from behind it. The Commander skidded in the sludge, drifting to a stop. He dismounted the vehicle - _motorcycle_ \- and a woman seated behind him followed. The woman wore a bulky scarf concealing half of her face and a military uniform. On her flanks, a man held his energy shield, clad in shining bronze plate, and another wore full red armor and visor. The Commander planted his halberd and spoke.

"Who-What are you? Nothing on our database matches your description. Which tinker made you? And for what purpose?" He spoke loudly-far louder than he had to.

The Giant looked down. "I am Superman, but the ones who made me have no names. My purpose is to protect."

"What? If you're not a suit or a machine, then what are you? Case 53? Changer? Projection?" The man gestured slightly with his halberd.

"Who are you?" The Giant rumbled. He didn't know what Tinker, Case 53 or any of the words meant, but they must have related to these supers. Categories?

"Armsmaster of the Protectorate East-North-East," the man said. When he didn't continue, the scarfed woman called, "Miss Militia, Assault, and Dauntless."

"Nice to meet you," The Giant said, extending an open hand to Armsmaster. After a long moment, he clasped a metallic finger and shook. The Giant did this for all four heroes.

"All participants of an Endbringer fight must arrive on time. You caused quite a commotion at the triage when you landed. A few meters off and there would have been casualties!" Armsmaster called suddenly. Dauntless and Miss Militia appeared ready to speak but didn't.

"Sorry, needed to know… What happened," The Giant rumbled in apology.

"What, you didn't know Leviathan was attacking? Then where were you headed?"

"Hogarth."

Armsmaster sighed. "I've never heard of that place. Where did you come from?"

"Langjokull, Iceland," the Giant replied evenly. Armsmaster glanced at Miss Militia. She shrugged.

The questioning lulled for a moment, and the Giant knew he had to deflect more probing questions. These people seemed heroes, but he had woken in an unfamiliar world. A world where massive robots like him weren't necessarily out of place. But they could not know he'd been around before the strange changes, that he was out of context. They'd treat him… like Mansley. Like the military did.

"Where can I find… refuse metal?" The Giant asked. They'd let him consume in peace, then he'd fly to find Hogarth. Rockwell was only a few minutes from here. Saving the city was tiring work, but it was all worth it if he could see Hogarth again after so long. As far as he appreciated, Rockwell had been his first real home after eons of drifting from planet to planet, stripping them bare.

"For what purpose? I'm afraid I cannot relinquish any PRT supplies for repair." Armsmaster crossed his arms.

Miss Militia finally spoke up. "There's a place called the Boat Graveyard northeast of here. It's easy to spot, a stretch of beach with abandoned ship hulls scattered all over. Nobody would bat an eye anyway, and you've more than earned it."

The Giant nodded in gratitude, turning to go as Armsmaster protested. "Don't leave! You're required to stay for full questioning."

A fraction of a second later, the Giant was airborne. Armsmaster still shouted after him, reminding him more than a little of General Rogard. He spotted the Boat Graveyard and zoomed towards it with the last slivers of power within. The area here was still flooded. Many pieces of metal floated among the condemned hulls. He landed, jostling the ships and grabbing a meter long piece out of the water. He crunched down and ingested the pieces whole. Almost immediately, power surged through him again.

He needed more. A small fishing boat lay beside him and he ripped the cupola from the deck. The Giant feasted indiscriminately, the refined metals much more filling than the raw ore he'd consumed that morning. After tearing a chunk from a submerged hull, he felt full once again.

It was time to seek out Hogarth.

The Giant discarded a twisted length of metal and leaped up. His fusion thrusters flared with newfound power, propelling him above Brockton Bay. The shipyard shrank beneath as he waved to the defenders, breaking the cloud layer-and the sound barrier. He rolled right, headed north to Rockwell.

He left the surrounding countryside, cruising along the coast. _3.2 minutes until arrival._ Alone once again, he pondered. What had happened to Earth didn't seem like a completely recent development. The defenders coordinated and fought with skill. That curious robotic suit and the various armors supported the idea of technological advance, yet the buildings and vehicles were like what he'd known. Each of the defenders' abilities were unique-Wouldn't cleaner roles be more practical-and didn't need any visible pieces of technology. A blast of light from an open palm, a shield from nothing. And the girl he'd saved had been an adolescent. He knew that adolescents didn't usually fight, so why now?

That only made him think more of Hogarth. He knew that humans aged. He didn't know how much exactly they could age before they decayed and… died, like that deer in the forest, shot by a hunter. He'd seen many of his own die in the reclaiming of _Planet 3243,_ entombed as an orbital strike tore into the crust. He could only hope that Hogarth still lived-but he had a good feeling.

The Giant climbed higher as he neared Rockwell and the lighthouse cliff, flying further to the dense forest behind the town. He would attempt what little stealth he could. At five kilometers above the forest, he fell. He fell and scanned the trees for any sign of human life, and there was none. Excitement filled him even as he flared his thrusters for a third of a second, touching the tips of trees in the grove behind the substation. He fell _10.34 meters_ and landed, crouched, with a boom.

Just ahead, well _3.24 kilometers_ ahead, Hogarth's old house lay. It had occurred to him that Hogarth might not live there anymore, but it was the first place to look. He started to crawl, surprised at his own quietness. Deer sprinted away and birds flew, but he was sure nobody had seen him yet.

To be sure, he detached both hands and sent them crawling to either side. He'd hear if anybody approached. He crawled still, and the antenna on his head sprouted again. Not one but twelve targets lit up at the coordinates. Hogarth didn't have twelve TVs! He began broadcasting regardless.

" _Are you in any way… affiliated with… Superman? Superman? Su-"_

Piggot's call echoed in Hogarth's head endlessly. Dennis, wounded. Gerry, he'd prefer not to think about Gerry at the moment, or any of those dead dockworkers-What of Danny? Yet one thought rang true-the thought of the Iron Giant.

Hogarth sprang up and rushed to the door, grabbing his jacket from the hook. He slipped into hiking shoes and pocketed his cell phone. A loud burst of static sounded from the TV ( _what the hell_?) and he rushed back into the room to see a noisy image of… trees? Dense, tall conifers and fallen logs, and in the distance there lay a clearing. Hogarth wheeled around, making for the back door. He hefted a sheet of steel from his shop, running from the house, leaving the door wide open.

The last patches of snow had melted a week ago, turning into slush. Hogarth's boots churned the stuff as he ran into the woods behind his house. Even at sixty-three, Hogarth still jogged. So he ran and clambered over a few boulders in the rough path as the snow and darkness grew denser. He was retracing his steps fifty-four years ago, growing winded when the substation appeared in the clearing.

It was abandoned now. They never did replace the eaten girders, where twisted lengths of metal jutted from the concrete. Three stories of transformers stood arrayed, their coils now battered and frayed. This had been a marvel in its time, now left derelict.

And it had been where Hogarth first met the Giant. A crash in the night had drawn him here, and in the end he'd almost been crushed as the Giant ripped the station apart, only to convulse between fallen cables. Hogarth had saved him, shutting off power to the station-but not before the Giant had drained most of it.

Hogarth now knew how silly he'd been.

The Giant's right hand detected a signature. Someone was approaching the substation, unarmed and sprinting. He listened to the footfalls. The Giant himself crawled to the edge of a clearing, not of the substation, but where Hogarth had waited for him on the second day. He could barely contain himself at the thought of meeting Hogarth for the _second_ time…

Hogarth called out "Hello? Who's there?" a clanging, like rocks on metal sounded. The Giant rumbled in joy. His left hand crept to the edge of the clearing-and there he was. Hogarth, old friend. Mentor, guide, savior. He thought back to that autumn day (" _My own giant robot! I'm the luckiest kid in America!")_ and chuckled, a grating rumble. As if he couldn't hear that.

Hogarth had aged. His auburn hair had faded, a slight slouch pressing on his spine. The jeans and jacket he wore were worn and weathered, much like his face. Yet the eyes, twin pools of blue youth radiated _hope_ from a world-weary mask. And he kept banging on that piece of metal. So the Giant stood, head poking over the treeline, and came forth.

"Come on out! Delicious-uh-savory metal! Come on, big metal guy!"

Hogarth hefted the steel sheet with his prosthetic, never getting tired. He punctuated his words with clangs. He had to be here. He just had to-

A sound like branches breaking, and Hogarth whirled. Dark, shadowed by firs, the Giant stood. He parted the trees like one might open a door.

And stepped forward into the clearing.

Hogarth dropped the sheet of metal, his jaw going slack. His head craned up, up and up before his wide eyes met the Giant's warm ones.

Hogarth blinked, once, twice. Silent screams coursed in his blood: he could contain himself no more. He tore through the clearing, leaping a log, sliding through mud ( _he came back-he came back!)._ Hogarth launched himself at the Giant's leg, wrapping himself around it best he could.

He wasn't very shocked to find his vision blurry when he opened his eyes: tears ran down his cheeks. A click sounded above, and Hogarth felt a metallic finger on his hair.

The Giant stared down fondly. "I return, old friend," he rumbled.

Hogarth hopped down, silent for a moment.

"You came from the sky, right?" he said finally.

The Giant laughed, a reverberating sound that had his shoulders shaking.

"Rock? Tree!?" he replied.

Now Hogarth chuckled, jittering with adrenaline. "Now, we're going to have to find a place for you to stay, huh? Away from prying Protectorate eyes?"-A thought nagged at the corner of his mind. _"You saved tens of thousands..."_

 _"_ Giant!" he said sternly as he could "You've got a lot of explaining to do!"


End file.
